Postcards from the Past
by scifinerdgrl
Summary: Post-"Release" story. After Follmer goes to prison, Reyes helps close up his apartment.


AUTHOR: Scifinerdgrl  
TITLE: Postcards from the Past  
RATING: PG13  
CLASSIFICATION: S/R  
SPOILERS: Release  
KEYWORDS: Post-Ep ("Release"), Follmer/Reyes Romance,  
Follmer/Reyes Friendship, Doggett/Reyes Friendship  
SUMMARY: Reyes agrees to help Follmer close his apartment after  
he goes to prison for shooting Regali.  
  
She had made this walk many times, interviewing suspects whom she  
had had incarcerated. They had always been strangers, never  
anyone she could ever care for. Knowing there were dozens of  
cameras and microphones planted around the visiting room had  
always given her a sense of security. This day she wished there  
could be some real privacy. This day she would be visiting Brad  
Follmer, her former lover and fellow FBI agent.  
  
She sat at a table, relieved to find he was not considered a high  
enough risk to be kept behind a plexiglass barrier. Maybe prison  
would not be so horrible for him after all. She resolved to help  
him get transferred to one of the infamously cushy "country club"  
prisons. As reprehensible as his crime was, she hated to think  
he would live out his days in the company of drug addicts, child  
molesters, and gang bangers.  
  
A few minutes passed while she waited for him. She watched the  
faces of the other pairs of people in the room -- tearful wives,  
nervous parents... how would she appear to them? She had no idea  
how she would feel. And the prisoners, their happy expressions  
barely concealing the deep despair they lived with the other 23  
hours of the day... how would Brad seem? She was there partly  
from curiosity. His letter was brief and cryptic: "Please come  
to visit me. I need to talk to you." He needed her... Her mind  
ran through dozens of things he might want... each one raising an  
uncomfortable mix of feelings, both old and new. She knew he  
still loved her. And for that reason alone she felt a sense of  
obligation to this doomed man.  
  
Brad the prisoner shuffled through a door at the far end of the  
visiting room, escorted by a muscular guard. She couldn't help  
feeling a twinge of the old joy she used to feel when they dated,  
when he'd arrive at their favorite restaurant for one of their  
rare public "coincidental" events. He didn't see her at first,  
his eyes were on the floor, shame pressing down on his shoulders.   
When the guard stopped him at their table he looked up with  
difficulty, and when he saw her concerned face he smiled for the  
first time in weeks, maybe months.  
  
They waited until the guard had assumed his position a discreet  
distance from their table, then Monica reached her hands across  
the table. He put his hands on hers and she could feel a slight  
tremble, very unlike his usual authoritative, controlling touch.   
Immediately she sensed that this was not the same man who had  
betrayed her. This Brad Follmer was broken and helpless. She  
resisted the urge to pull her hands away from his trembling  
neediness. Whatever he wanted, she would hear him out.  
  
"Thank you for coming," he said gratefully. "I didn't think you  
would."  
  
"Of course I would, Brad," Monica said soothingly, rubbing her  
hands on his in an attempt to calm them. "I hate what you did,  
but I don't hate you."  
  
"Thank you," he said, his voice shaky and a little gravelly.   
They sat in silence as they both waited for him to find his  
composure. The look of pity in her eyes was something he hadn't  
counted on, and as much as it hurt his pride to be in jail in the  
first place, her pity made it even worse. "Monica," he started,  
then paused to swallow back his tears. "I need your help."  
  
Stroking his hands, she tried to find the soothing tone that had  
worked when his sister had died. It was the only other time  
she'd seen him cry. "I'm here for you," she said. "Whatever you  
need..."  
  
"My parents..." he decided to blurt out what he could before his  
emotions closed off his voice again. "They're flying in to close  
up my apartment. I need you to..." The pitch of his voice  
rising, his shoulders shaking, he mustered all his willpower to  
force out the last few words of his request. "...go through my  
things... get rid of anything they shouldn't see.... this is  
hard enough for them."  
  
Monica's sympathy immediately jumped from Brad to his parents.   
She'd met them twice, once at his sister's funeral, the other  
time when he brought them New York to celebrate their  
anniversary. Monica realized now, as his parents surely did  
also, where the money for that trip had come from. "Of course I  
will, Brad," she said. "Want me to help them after they get  
here?"  
  
Surprised, he flashed a grateful smile and eagerly asked, "Could  
you? I know it's a lot to ask.."  
  
"I like them," Monica reassured him. "And this can't be easy for  
them." Their eyes locked, acknowledging what an understatement  
this was. Brad the over-achieving fair-haired son, who had gone  
to Princeton on scholarship, whose career had been a source of  
pride for his entire family... Brad the good boy was now Brad the  
convicted felon. Monica knew that nobody else in Brad's life  
would understand their pain the way she would. If she didn't  
help them, who would?  
  
"You're a good person, Monica," Brad said sincerely. "You have  
no idea how grateful I am for what you're doing."  
  
She smiled awkwardly and squeezed his hands. "I have some idea,"  
she said comfortingly. "And I also have some idea how difficult  
it was for you to ask for help."  
  
"You know me well," Brad relaxed and smiled.  
  
Monica sighed. She wasn't so sure. She was shocked when she saw  
him take a bribe, and his shooting of Regali and subsequent  
confession had also taken her by surprise. "Is there anything  
specific you want me to do... with your apartment?" If they  
didn't stick to business, she might cry at any moment. She  
resolved to stay strong for both their sakes.  
  
"The bureau turned it upside down looking for evidence... If you  
could try to make it look more... civilized?... for my parents'  
sake?" His voice was cracking, but her nods of assent helped him  
regain control. "And if you find anything... special... from New  
York... from our times together... it's yours to keep."  
  
Her eyes popped open at this mention of mementoes. "From New  
York? What do you mean, Brad?"  
  
"Consider it a gift... whatever you find that reminds you of New  
York... in my closet... on the top shelf..." his voice cracking,  
he couldn't continue.  
  
"Brad," she started, her voice lowering for sympathetic emphasis.   
"That's in the past... I don't know..."  
  
"Just keep it, please," Brad pleaded, tears welling up in his  
eyes. "I want you to have it. It would mean a lot to me."  
  
From the corner of her eye she could see the guard approaching.   
"Our time's up... I'll do it, Brad... You can count on me."  
  
"I know," he smiled through his tears and squeezed her hands  
until her knuckles hurt. "Thank you for coming." She smiled a  
"you're welcome." As the guard stood behind him Brad's  
authoritative voice returned, and he added, "My lawyer has the  
key, and my parent's itinerary. He knows I've asked you to do  
this."  
  
*************************  
A musty smell greeted Monica as she opened the door to Brad's  
apartment. Her heart sank as she saw the job before her. Papers  
were strewn all over the apartment, drawers were left open or  
turned upside down on the floor, and even the kitchen cabinets  
were in a chaotic state. She pulled her cellphone from her  
pocket and hit Number 1 in its stored numbers. "John Doggett,"  
she heard on the other end.  
  
"Hi John. I've changed my mind. I could use your help after  
all." After his promise to be right there, Monica put the phone  
back and tried to develop a plan. John would take the living  
room and kitchen, she decided. She would take the private zones  
-- bedroom and closet.   
  
Within minutes John was at the door, and he let out a 'whew' as  
he saw the mess left by the investigators. He had to admit he'd  
done the same a few times himself, and he'd never given a thought  
to the people who would have to set things right afterward. His  
partner's face showed the pain of the task at hand, and he felt  
compelled to comfort her. Putting his arm around her waist, he  
said softly, "What a mess... "  
  
She sighed her response, but as comforting as his sympathy was it  
was also grating to her. "You take the living room and kitchen.   
I'll be in the closet," she ordered.  
  
He watched as she made her way through the piles on the floor,  
happy to see that she seemed not to know her way around this  
apartment. Although he'd been resisting her charms for almost a  
year, he couldn't help feeling a little possessive and jealous  
when it came to Brad. John knew that Brad's sudden interest in  
the X-Files could be attributed to his long-time interest in  
Agent Reyes, but John's own interest in Agent Reyes would have to  
wait until he was ready to express it. After releasing Luke's  
ashes into the ocean, and Brad's incarceration, the barriers  
between them had been shrinking daily. It was only a matter of  
time...  
  
When she had disappeared around a doorway he went to the kitchen  
and got started on the first cabinet.  
  
Monica couldn't help but be impressed by the furnishings in the  
bedroom. Modern, sleek, and no doubt expensive, Brad's bedroom  
spoke to his ambitions and smelled of dirty money. Turning her  
back on this evidence, she sought out the closet shelf Brad  
wanted her to see. It was empty, its contents strewn on the  
floor along with the contents of the other shelves. She pushed  
the sweaters and shoes aside to give herself a place to sit, then  
started going through Brad's possessions. Soon she found the  
mementoes she sought -- Princeton Club receipts, pictures from  
their trip to Cancun, letters in her hand-writing and a few  
e-mail print-outs... She found an empty box and started filling  
it with these memories of better times. She picked up a pile of  
postcards from their trips together, trips she'd always thought  
Brad could afford on his salary, and started going through them.   
Las Vegas, Paris, Barbados... they were wonderful times, when  
they didn't have to sneak around, when they could be affectionate  
in public... His ease at covering up their surreptitious  
activities should have given her a clue to his character, but  
she'd never suspected a thing. Her own desire for his expert  
love-making and romantic whispers blocked out all rational  
thoughts on her part. Seeing these postcards forced her to admit  
to herself that the anger she'd been directing toward Brad was  
partly anger at her own blindness and naivete. As a trained  
investigator, she should not have been taken in like that... and  
as a woman, she should not have let her lust overcome her better  
judgment... She sighed, feeling a sense of closure for this  
relationship that shouldn't have been. She bit back tears and  
reached for the last postcard. Hawaii. Their last weekend  
together. Her last days of innocence...  
  
As her fingers slipped under it, she felt something hard and  
velvety. Instantly she recognized it as a jewelry box, and  
pushed the postcard aside. It was a ring. Monica's heart sank.   
No, she prayed... this couldn't be what she feared it might  
be.... Steeling herself against the wellspring of feelings that  
either outcome would elicit, she opened it. A piece of paper  
fluttered out, neatly folded to fit into the tiny box. She  
grabbed it and read it, grateful for an excuse to postpone  
looking into the box. It was a receipt, and she recognized the  
date: two days before she broke off their relationship. It was  
itemized, listing a ring and a fee for engraving. Big red  
letters read "CASH. Non-refundable" at the bottom, under a  
five-figure total. She stoically reached for the box, ignoring  
the tears that had started streaming down her cheeks. It was  
what she'd feared, a diamond engagement ring. She gasped as the  
diamonds refracted the light. She couldn't help admiring its  
beauty. He knew her too well. He'd picked exactly the style and  
look that would please her, and it still did. She pulled it from  
its container and squinted to read the engraving inside. "To  
Monica. I love you forever. Brad"  
  
Reading those words brought forth the torrent of mixed emotions  
that she'd dammed up for three years, and she dropped the ring as  
she buried her face in her hands. She felt for Brad. She felt  
for herself. She felt for the unfairness of it all, despite the  
justice Brad was finally facing...  
  
John's voice came from around the corner. "Geez, Monica... Who  
went through this place?" he shouted as he walked to the door, a  
broken antique vase in his hand. He stopped when he saw her.  
He'd never seen her like that, despite the openness of their  
friendship. She was the strong one, the one who had comforted  
him after Luke's death, the one he wanted at his side after  
releasing Luke's ashes to the winds. He set the vase down and  
knelt at her side. "What is it, Mon?' he asked gently, putting  
an arm around her shoulders.  
  
She buried her face in his chest and sobbed freely, unleashing  
the full force of her emotions. He held her close, stroking her  
hair and resting his head close to hers. "Shhhhh" he whispered.   
"It's alright..." He rocked her gently from side to side as her  
sobs grew louder and more intense, then gradually slowed and  
calmed. Over her shoulder he could see the cause of this  
uncharacteristic outburst: a diamond ring. Things between her  
and Brad had been more serious than he realized. And maybe more  
serious than she'd realized too. He continued rocking her, happy  
to have this opportunity to be there for her the way she had been  
for him. And without any more conversation between them, he knew  
what was happening. Just as he'd needed to be released from his  
grief and guilt over Luke before he could love her openly,  
perhaps she needed her own release. 


End file.
